


Bait

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4502460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kíli stumbles on the journal of a dwarf quite taken with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bait

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Kili finds a journal someone's been keeping. Not knowing what else to do he starts to read it if only to find the identity of the author and give the journal back. He might slowly fall in love with the author of the journal or he might realize that the author was in love with him, whatever anon wants. But as time goes by Kili realizes the journal belonged to his brother and he decides to do something” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=22558955#t22558955).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They’re packing up when he finds it, coming back late from taking a leak. The others are all on their ponies, the remnants of the fire kicked over, all the sleeping bags off the ground, and he nearly trips over a book. 

At first, Kíli thinks it must be Bilbo’s, maybe Ori’s—who else would carry a book on this journey? But curiosity calls him to flip open the cover while the others are just out of sight, though not earshot, amidst the smattering of shallow trees. He knows from the first page that it’s a journal, maybe even a diary, because it’s just the date and a bunch of prose. That rules out offering it back up to the lot of them—a journal’s much too personal to go waving around. He wouldn’t put it past a few of his friends to claim it as theirs just to get the gossip, and the true owner too shy to say anything. 

He sticks it in his coat as he wanders back to them, up onto his pony and ready to go. They give him a peripheral look, then a quick headcount, and set off again. He thinks of asking Ori, who’s good with writing and might be able to tell from the penmanship who it belongs to. Except that Ori might let it slip to Nori, who’d probably steal it for some fun, and then Kíli would have that on his conscience. So he keeps silent, stewing on it.

Most of the day, like most of their days, is uneventful. When they do have trouble, it only seems to come in large calamities, but they’ve hit a calm stretch where it’s just dull trudging and Bofur’s occasional song to cheer them up. Kíli spends some of the ride wondering who’s mostly likely to keep a journal. He’s not sure Bifur can write, and Bilbo would probably have really neat, tidy, not-at-all-dwarf-like writing, but the rest, Kíli would have no clue. He’s never paid much attention to that sort of thing. Dori’s persnickety, so it could be his, but Thorin has the most to say, and Balin seems rather fluent with books. Maybe the reason Dwalin’s so blunt and gruff is that he gets it all out on paper, or maybe Bofur writes down his ideas for songs before he strings them together. Glóin might be keeping notes for Gimli to read when they get back, or Óin might have a running description of herbs they come across. Really, it could be any of them. And Kíli would have no way to know.

Except read it, of course. By the time they stop again for dinner, it’s all he’s come up with. A lot of it is still his curiosity, but he does genuinely want to return it to its rightful owner—it must be very worrisome, losing something so personal out in the wild. Reading it seems his only choice. 

He eats with the others first, next to Fíli like he almost always is, and they talk of little things, but his mind always drifts back to the book stuffed in his coat. So he makes his excuse where he can and slinks off behind a tree, curled up to get the light of the fire and what’s left of the stars. The first page isn’t addressed to anyone in particular and only talks of benign things like scenery that anyone could notice. It’s boring, but that’s good. The simple account of things isn’t so personal and makes him feel less guilty for prying. Two pages in, he’s almost bored enough to give up. He lived all these things, and although the writing’s fluid and easy, it feels like the author’s wasting his time.

Then he hits his name on the third entry, and he has to stop, going back to reread the first paragraph. It isn’t anything particularly noteworthy. It doesn’t mention any of the others, though, just him, and how he’s getting better at fighting. It mentions some of the training he’s had, which he knows has all been with Fíli and Thorin, which makes him blush to think that anyone was watching. Then it talks of his scruff, how it’s getting a bit longer, and maybe he won’t shave it back this time. To Kíli’s surprise, the author doesn’t seem to mind his lack of beard, says he looks _cute_ with it short, but he’d look good with it long, too, probably more like Thorin. Personally, Kíli wouldn’t at all mind looking like his handsome uncle, but he’ always liked to look a bit _different_ , so otherwise average as he is. He’s just surprised the author agrees—most dwarves go for beards, the longer and thicker the better. Kíli can’t help reaching for his chin, scratching it self-consciously.

From there, he reads much faster. He skips large chunks of menial things, always looking out for names, but none of the entries are signed and all of it could still be from anyone. His is the only name that comes up other than Thorin, ruling Thorin out for the author, and all the things said about him are nice, complimentary. There’s only one section that says he’s stubborn and can miss obvious things, which is frustrating given his current situation, but he understands. They’ve all fought with each other on this trip. It’s bound to happen with so many rowdy dwarves in one place. He forgives the author because immediately after, there’s a section about how wonderful his laugh is and how fun he is to be around. 

It becomes swiftly obvious that the author has a crush on him. It’s endearing, in a way, and naturally makes Kíli all the more curious to know who it is. He’s not sure he’d actually want to do anything about it—he’s never had any strong feelings of any kind for anyone besides his family. And if it’s Balin, or Óin, or even Dori, they’re all much too old for him. But the more he reads, the more his cheeks burn, and the more he thinks _maybe_ he could get to know this dwarf better, if it’s someone young and handsome like Bofur, Nori, or even Ori. He’s starting to discount Dwalin, just because he’s always thought of Dwalin like an uncle, and he’s not sure either Glóin or Bombur are polyamorous. Of course, he’s not completely sure they like him _like that_ , until he hits a section about guilty wet dreams.

It isn’t _that_ bad. He can tell that the author’s holding back, only writing parts of it, and it’s still vague, too vague to determine who it’s with. But the gist is that this person dreamt of sleeping with Kíli, spooning him, clinging onto him and humping him, and Kíli wantonly leaning into it, asking for more. The descriptions aren’t vivid enough for Kíli to really _picture_ , but he almost wishes he could. He can feel himself getting hot all the same, mostly from being _wanted_ —the person makes themselves sound so _lucky_ , like Kíli is the greatest prize any dwarf could ask for.

Then Fíli’s voice calls, “Kíli!” and Kíli knows he’s been gone to long. He closes the book and hurriedly hides it, scrambling back to the fire. None of the others seem to have noticed his absence, all talking amongst themselves, but Fíli’s not accustomed to sitting alone. Kíli slinks down beside him, back to a log. It’s difficult to look at Fíli after what he just read. He feels sort of traitorous, having never though specially about anyone but Fíli, and now he can’t stop himself from looking around. It’d be easier on his mind to just stand up and ask who dropped their journal, but it wouldn’t be easier on them. Maybe the author wouldn’t think Kíli so amazing, then.

When Fíli asks what he was gone for, he shrugs and mutters, “Stretching my legs,” which makes no sense, but Fíli must see that he doesn’t want to say anymore and doesn’t ask. A short while later, Thorin stomps out the fire, and they scatter to their bedrolls. 

Kíli sleeps next to Fíli, always does. He’s only just settled down when he can’t take it anymore—he wants to go read _more_. He rolls onto his side to tell Fíli he’ll be right back, but he stops mid-breath. Fíli’s already facing him, curled up with one elbow under his head like a pillow, and his eyes are open but elsewhere, lips curved down. He looks _sad_ , which gives Kíli even more guilt—he should’ve noticed earlier. He murmurs, “What is it?”

Fíli asks, “What?” As though Kíli wouldn’t notice. Kíli just frowns, and Fíli sighs, “Nothing.” The book doesn’t seem so important anymore. 

So Kíli snuggles closer, dragging his blankets until they’re touching Fíli’s. It’s comforting to be together, at least for him, and he’s sure Fíli feels the same. Maybe the quest is what’s bringing Fíli down—it’s long, and boring, with a terrifying end no one seems to have figured out. Kíli comes so close that his nose brushes Fíli’s, and he mumbles, “It’ll be alright.”

Fíli smiles. It’s radiant, like all of his, with just the moon and starlight to shine over the edges of his golden hair and mustache. His hand searches under the blankets, finds Kíli’s, and wraps around it, squeezing once. He murmurs, “Thanks.”

Kíli’s heart does a little flip, as it so often does from these little things. He can see that he’s cheered Fíli up by doing nothing at all, and that’s more valuable than a book. At least whatever happens, they have each other. Kíli almost rolls back around, ready to just go to sleep and save the searching for tomorrow, but then he thinks of what position that’ll put them in. He’ll be nestled right along Fíli’s body, spooning, like the book said, and that makes him flush hot and hope Fíli can’t see it in the dark. He falls to sleep right where he is, their hands still intertwined. 

In the morning, he wakes up first, cuddled close to Fíli with their hair a mess together. He detangles himself as best he can without waking Fíli, who looks so very sweet and peaceful, even with a bit of drool at the corner of his mouth. Kíli has to resist the urge to laugh and kiss his cheek, instead climbing to his feet. 

It’s barely light out, and most of the others are asleep, except for Thorin and Balin off talking in hushed whispers. It’s easy to sneak past them, plant himself behind a tree, and open the journal again. This time he only skims through, searching out and finding his name many times over. A few mentions are recounts of moments, like holding hands, that makes Kíli wonder who exactly he’s held hands with without thinking about. Again, it could be any of them. The author talks about wanting to braid Kíli’s hair, maybe a thin little one near the center like Thorin’s, and that’s no help—most dwarves like braids. Dori or Nori might have the most. It definitely rules out Bilbo, who doesn’t seem to notice such things. 

There’s one section about bathing in the river, watching him but not wanting to stare. They all go naked together, not thinking much of it, despite Bilbo’s evident horror every time. But the author seems to find these common rituals almost torturous, because they describe Kíli so beautifully, wanting him so much, and it makes Kíli shiver and wonder what sort of idiot finds his clumsy floundering attractive. They never mention him being a prince, so it can’t be that, and by now he’s read enough of his personality to know that this dwarf knows him well, or at least has watched him well enough to make the right guesses. Pausing suddenly, he flips ahead, realizing with a pang of disappointment that he doesn’t have many pages left to go. He thinks of dropping it in camp randomly, hoping the person picks it up and fills in more, then stealing it later, but of course he feels horrible for just the thought.

It isn’t until three pages from the end that he finds his first clue, and the only one he needs. It’s one simple sentence left after another wet dream, describing a pit of guilt for _“lusting after my baby brother.”_

Kíli bristles, his immediate reaction a quiet, scoffed, “I’m not a baby.” And then it hits him, and he realizes in a sudden avalanche of shock, that he’s reading _Fíli’s_ book. And that means _Fíli wants him_.

Thorin’s voice calls, “Kíli! Where’ve you gotten off to?” And Kíli’s head snaps up so fast that his neck cracks. He feels sick and hot and boneless all at once. It’s a struggle to stand up again, hide the book, and come out from behind the tree. The others are getting up and cleaning up, and Kíli meanders over to Fíli to do the same, unable to meet Fíli’s eyes.

It’s one of the most awkward rides he’s ever had. He can’t seem to talk to Fíli and always rides a bit behind when he can, so he can _stare_ at Fíli without it being noticed. He doesn’t even really know what he’s feeling. A part of him is angry Fíli never said anything, and a part of him is ashamed for invading Fíli’s privacy, and the rest is just confused. He’s not confused over how he feels about Fíli—he _loves_ Fíli, always has—he just didn’t realize it was _like that_ and now he suddenly, unequivocally knows. It’s not that uncommon among dwarves. But it’s such a strange way to go about it all, and now he knows how much Fíli _adores_ him and he just... doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t know Fíli wrote so well.

He still sits next to Fíli when they eat. He feels like he should say something, anything, but can’t bring himself to. He presses his leg against Fíli’s just for the contact, and Fíli looks at him and says seriously, “It’ll be alright.” Kíli blushes and grins but can’t say much back. They wolf down their food and shuffle off to bed. 

Kíli means to face away when they lie down, but can’t. He settles onto his side, eyes half lidded and watching Fíli, and Fíli asks, “What is it?” Kíli thinks of saying nothing like Fíli did, but then he finds himself looking at Fíli’s pink lips, framed so prettily by his golden hair, and Kíli wonders what the point of waiting is. 

He mumbles, “Roll over.” Maybe because of the grave look on Kíli’s face, Fíli does. Kíli shuffles closer, wrapping his arm under and around Fíli’s body. He can hear Fíli’s sudden hitch of breath, all their warmth, and Fíli makes a small moaning noise that might be Kíli’s name. Kíli fishes the journal out of his pocket and lays it down on Fíli’s other side. Then he holds onto Fíli so tightly that there’s no chance for Fíli to roll around and look at him.

Fíli’s still. A few minutes of silence pass, Kíli pressing his face into Fíli’s shoulder and wanting to say he’s sorry, before Fíli asks quietly, “Did you read it?”

Kíli nods into the back of Fíli’s neck and mumbles, “Yes.” 

Fíli whispers, “I’m sorry.” If they weren’t so close, Kíli wouldn’t hear it. 

He shakes his head, whispering back, “No, I... I like you too. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.” He probably always knew that. But it’s still strange to have it at the forefront of his mind, and he feels silly for not knowing it before.

Fíli struggles in his grip until Kíli relinquishes, and then Fíli rolls around to face him. Fíli’s eyes are wide. He licks his lips, drawing Kíli’s eyes, and asks, “Really?” Kíli just nods. 

They look at each other for a time, but it becomes too much, and then they’re closing in. Kíli’s not sure which of them moves first. They’re apart, and then they’re kissing, tentative at first, but stronger when Kíli realizes how _right_ it feels. Too right. He’s kissed Fíli before, on the cheek or forehead or surface wounds, and if he’d just tried it on the mouth, he could’ve opened up a whole new world. They part for half a second, eyes closed and opening enough to look at one another, and then they’re kissing again. Fíli lifts a hand to cup his face and presses in harder, like this is a lifeline. Kíli can’t help but wonder how long Fíli’s been waiting for it.

The next time they part, Kíli grunts, “I’m not a baby.” And Fíli laughs, nuzzling into him. It makes Kíli chuckle and smile and coo like a puppy. If he had a tail, Fíli would always be making it wag. They draw closer, impossibly tight, tossing their blankets over one another to share and trying not to be too loud, and Kíli adds, “You’re a good writer.”

When Fíli smiles, Kíli sighs, “Write a really amazing entry about this, okay?”


End file.
